The Ballad of John Doe
by Agent Orange
Summary: Reports of Spike's death were greatly exaggerated but he's in no rush to correct the error. Will he be better off dead or can he reclaim his place as Spike post-Julia? Completed. Rated R for potty mouths.
1. The Rain King

Author's Notes: SPOILERS FOR SESSION 26! I just want to say for the record that in actuality, I believe Spike died at the end of the series. I also believe it was a sad but fitting ending for the show. But I wasn't quite done with these guys yet and dammit, that's what fanfiction is for. We're not aiming for artistic integrity here. So, yeah. In my fic, Spike lives. But I will readily admit that the real thing got it right. Here's my crack. First fic everyone so please feel free to tell me what you think, either way.

Rain King

__

When I think of heaven 

I think of flying down into a sea of pens and feathers 

And all other instruments of faith and sex and god 

In the belly of a black-winged bird 

Don't try to feed me 

I've been here before and I deserve a little more 

The comm buzzed and the remaining residents of the Bebop stared at it as if it was serving a death sentence. In a way, it most likely was.

"Don't get it," Faye said weakly from her spot camped out on the floor. She hadn't removed herself from that place since Spike had left.

Jet stared back at the ringing device and considered it. Finally, however, as if moved by some unseen force, Jet slowly made his way over to the comm. He stared at it for a moment, almost daring the thing to give him bad news. Then he took a deep breath, and with his last remaining shred of hope, answered, "Spike?"

The screen flicked on to reveal a haggard man from ISSP, smoking a cigarette and decidedly having one of those days. One of those crazy, fucked up days where you feel like you've seen enough shit to last you several lifetimes, and the only thing you can think about was giving up and renting a condo on a beach somewhere. Jet knew those days too well. When you had the partners he had, those days were called Tuesdays.

The man did not say anything. He just shook his head. 

Jet nodded in understanding. "Do you want me to, um, identify the body or uh…anything?" he said quietly, though he wasn't sure why.

"Well technically, he's not officially dead. Right now, they've just tagged him up as John Doe and dumped him at the hospital. I'm sure not making any corrections. It's the friggen' 9th circle of Hell down here, man. I've never seen such a fucking blood bath. Building's burning up, debris falling, people hacked up every which way but loose. What, was this kid a psycho or what?"

"Wait, so how bad is he?"

"Bad, Jet. And if I may humbly suggest so, stay away from this thing. You never knew him; you've never seen his face. With the shit this kid pulled tonight he's better off dead."

"I think he always kinda knew that," Jet mused. "You will tell me if and when he um…you know."

The officer nodded. "You'll know. God damn media up my ass," he grumbled as he tapped the long cylinder of ash forming at his mouth to the ground. "Oh, and Jet," he added quickly as an after thought. "I'm sorry, man. I know you two were partners for awhile."

"Yeah, well," Jet said with a melancholy sort of smile. "I've been ready for this day since the moment I've met him. Can't exactly say he was the shy, quiet type."

"Obviously not," the officer snorted, despite actively noting it was in poor taste. "See ya, Space Cowboy," he said in mild salute before clicking off his receiver. 

"See ya," Jet said to the blank screen, though it wasn't really directed to the screen at all. It would only be two hours before the news would come drifting over the television. Spike Spiegel was dead.

But somewhere in the scope of those two hours, a grand chess game was underway. With the mounting corpses piling into the hospital as the royal order, someone manipulated them with unseen pawns. A force that was greater than truth itself snaked it's way through the hospital, taking full advantage of the chaos it had helped to create. And it was in those two hours that Spike, the blackest knight of them all, was being slowly shifted around the board.

__

I belong in the service of the Queen 

I belong everywhere but in between 

She's been dying 

I've been drinking 

And I am the Rain King 

Spike was disappointed to learn he wasn't dead.

It isn't so much that Spike wanted to die, as much as that he wanted to die well. The way he had just tried to go about killing himself was pretty close to perfect. He had come so close to going out in an orgy of passion and violence against his mortal enemy. He was a fucking cowboy, and that was simply how it was done. 

Cowboys don't wake up in hospitals hooked up to about a million bleeping contraptions wearing a paper gown that showed his ass to all of humanity.

And cowboys certainly never lost the girl.

He winced at the thought. He winced…and then he felt nothing. He wanted to feel. He wanted to scream her name out like a mad man through the halls. He wanted to break down in a pathetic heap of sobs and whimpers. He wanted to leap from the hospital bed and vow revenge, though on whom, he didn't really know. He wanted to do something dramatic. He wanted to do something that was an appropriate tribute to the one woman he loved. He felt his throat choke up briefly, and then relax. And it was back to feeling nothing.

He was all feeling-ed out. Because as disappointed that he was that he was alive, he was even more depressed to discover only a month and half had passed since. That meant that everything he had just tried to leave in a blaze of glory was still around. All the loose ends he had so masterfully left hanging were still dangling there, waiting to strangle him. It was all still here, and in six weeks, probably pretty much as he had left it.

There was only one difference. One painful, staggering, suffocating differences. Julia wasn't there. 

And for that matter, neither was Vicious. 

And so what did he have left? Did he have Jet and the Bebop? He supposed he would. He figured Jet would take him back. He always did, no matter how much he pissed him off. But did he want it?

He had pretty much only taken the job, cause, well, honestly, he did like Jet. He respected him. But he certainly could care less for the work. It just seemed like a reasonable life choice. A guy on the fringe of society, selling justice to the highest bidder while secretly on a personal quest to find his lost love and vanquish those who…

Fuck. It sounded so good on paper. 


	2. I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blue...

And I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

__

Don't wish it away  
Don't look at it like it's forever  
Between you and me I could honestly say  
That things can only get better  


They hadn't worked. They hadn't even left the ship. And they hadn't even really acknowledged why. Somehow, losing Spike was more than simply losing a friend or partner or whatever the hell he was. It was like they lost a tiny bit of their reality. 

Spike was dead. Spike wasn't someone who died. Spike was barely a person, when you got down to it. Spike was like a toy. You just sort of watched him. You'd wind him up and let him go, and you'd sit back with a goofy grin while he just was Spike. You rolled your eyes and you cussed him out, and you vowed to break whatever bones in his body that weren't broken by the time he came back. And then you fixed him up and let him go again.

And slowly, you found yourself getting this attachment to him. Like a stray cat you leave a bowl of milk out for. It never really belongs to you. But you feel like on some level, there has to be some kind of connection. The cat did choose your house out of all the others to come begging for milk, and it kept coming back when it surely could have gotten milk elsewhere. And then one day the cat stops showing. 

And then what? Do you still leave the milk out? How long should you keep leaving it there? Will there be other cats? Do you even want another cat? Maybe you'd prefer a nice parakeet instead. Maybe you're just done with pets all together. Maybe the whole ordeal made you realize feeding cats just wasn't worth it if it ended like that. Think of all the milk you wasted. Maybe all you ever wanted was a glass of milk, and now there will be plenty for yourself. 

Maybe you just miss the cat. And maybe you're pissed off cause you're quite certain the cat doesn't miss you.

"Do you believe in life after death?" Faye asked absently.

Jet almost jumped at the sound of her voice, since no one had spoken in what seemed like weeks, aside from the occasional "Your sitting on my smokes" or "Dinner's ready."

"Uh…never thought about it."

Faye looked up at her pseudo-partner incredulously. "Whadya mean, you never thought about it?"

"I mean I never thought about it."

"But you were a cop."

"So what?"

Faye just made a small huffing sound before biting a stray cuticle. "I dunno," she shrugged. "I just figured someone who's all in the face of death all the time would think about that stuff. I thought everyone thought about that stuff."

"Well…as someone who's in the face of death all the time, I guess I'm just more worried about not getting dead. Once you get dead, whatever happens, happens. Right? I mean, what's the point of worrying about it?" Jet reasoned. 

Faye seemed to mull this over. "Well, I think about it. And I guess I've been thinking about it more lately. Which is kinda lame, huh? So someone I know dies. Let me sit around and ponder my own mortality," she said in an overly important sounding voice. "Kinda…predictable."

"God forbid."

"Exactly."

Jet smiled slightly. "I'd like to think Spike's OK," he said softly, as if he wasn't quite sure he should be saying this out loud. "You know. Somewhere."

"You mean like in heaven?"

"Maybe."

"Do you think he'd make the list?"

Jet shook his head. "I dunno. I dunno how picky they are. I think he was a good guy. A huge pain in the ass, but a good guy. There ain't nothin' in the Bible about not being a pain in the ass."

"He was alright," Faye agreed, lamely summing up the thousand and one mixed and vivid emotions she actually felt for the stupid kid. "I guess…I guess I'm kinda worried about where all of this leaves me."

"That is very typical, Faye," Jet said flatly.

Faye didn't respond to that for awhile. Then finally, though she will never know why, she added, "I guess I just miss him."


	3. Comfortably Numb

Comfortably Numb

__

When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse 

Out of the corner of my eye 

I turned to look but it was gone 

I cannot put my finger on it now 

The child is grown, the dream is gone 

I have become comfortably numb

Cowboys were not named John Doe.

But that was the name on his med chart. John Doe. He figured that made sense. Everyone on the scene who knew him was dead. Everyone who knew him who wasn't on the scene wasn't even sure where the scene was. And no one law abiding would know his face. There was an off chance that someone from ISSP could have recognized him. Maybe they did. Maybe they figured it was smarter to pretend they didn't. He couldn't imagine he was worth the trouble. Maybe they told Jet.

Maybe they figured Jet would be better off without him. Maybe they were right.

Maybe he should get the fuck out of this hospital. He rose to a feeble sitting position and took a moment to get his bearings. He was sore and skinnier than usual. He had to move with a forced sort of grace that he wasn't used to. And his face, for some reason, had about eight pounds of gauze on it. He got up and ambled cautiously to the bathroom. He removed the gauze with as much tension as you remove the blanket off a dead guy. But his face was all right. It had a few more scars than before, and it was pale and sunken in. But it was still him. He wondered what all the bandaging was for. He briefly peeked his head out the door. The corridors were quiet. That strange, almost static sort of quiet that only a hospital could ever truly possess. It was the quiet of people waiting for death. Spike was done waiting. In one quick yank he pulled all the various wires out of his arm, and of course, began bleeding profusely. He grabbed a pillow from the empty bed and placed it over his bleeding wrist with an almost embarrassed expression. The bleeding subsided, and Spike took to the clumsy task of lowering himself out the window. He had initially considered making a rope out of the bed sheets old school style but then figured that would be too conspicuous. So instead, he tossed his bloodied pillow out the window and began attempting to scale down the wall. This lasted about two seconds until he lost his grip on the windowsill and crashed three floors down to Earth, about two inches away from his pillow. He took a brief moment to lament the fact that he had managed to survive. Again. And then he was off and…crawling. Exactly where he intended on going, he wasn't sure. But he definitely needed some new clothes. The hospital gown just somehow wasn't him.

The trouble with mugging a pimp for clothes is that you don't exactly blend in. Spike had actually briefly considered taking the hat. It wasn't exactly his style, but you gotta love a pimpin' hat. But then he decided he should put all vanity aside and simply pilfer the orange polyester suit with white alligator skin shoes. Apparently, it wasn't even fake alligator, the pimp and pathetically explained after Spike managed to turn his own gun on him. It was from a real live albino alligator. Only two in the world. The third one was on his feet.

Spike took a second to admire, or rather gasp in horror, at his reflection in a store window. Between the orange suit and the green hair, he looked like some sort of under fed, overworked pumpkin. He decided to take the sunglasses as well. If he were lucky, no one would recognize him like this.

He was surprised to learn he was on Venus, since the last place he went was Mars. He must have been air lifted. No matter. He walked a little sadly over to a small bar with really no intentions of getting drunk. He just wanted to sit and stare and think. Sometimes as he sat there, a million images would pass through his head almost at once. Most of them were of Julia, some of them were of Vicious, and some of them were about the Bebop. It was those thoughts that surprised him most of all. But they were only there for an instant, and then they were gone. And it was back to feeling nothing. 

Then suddenly something caught his attention. He didn't hear anything exactly, but he had that sort of feeling you have when you are daydreaming in class yet somehow know by magic that your teacher had just called on you. Something somewhere inside him heard his name. He turned and saw that the television was announcing something very odd. Spike Spiegel was dead. He had apparently been dead for a few weeks. The story itself was just to recap some new, but generally un-helpful information on the building explosion that supposedly killed him. It was the kind of forced news item they throw on the air on a slow day.

What the hell? First off, he wasn't even aware enough people knew who he was to make him newsworthy. Second, if he was getting a spot on the news, shouldn't they have been able to identify his body? Why was he John Doe while he was in the hospital and Dead Spike Spiegel when he wasn't? Maybe they tagged the wrong guy. That was a scary thought, for a hospital not to be able to keep track of their own dead people. He stared at the TV only really half interested. They kind of idly mentioned his death as if it was a gentle scolding to other bounty hunters. See what happens in this kind of work, kids? Why don't you all leave the crooks to the police and finish high school? And then they cut to some story of a kitten that got stuck in the ventilation system at a local church, and that was it. Spike was officially dead. After all, it was right there on the TV. 

Spike was dead. He wondered in a rare moment of whimsy if he actually was dead. That this was some sort of afterlife thing where he'd be showing people the spirit of Christmas or something. But he dropped like a stone out of that window. And he shot a pimp in the leg. And he got served in the bar. These were all things he was pretty sure dead people don't do. Just to make sure, he jabbed his thigh with the bartender's lemon zester. Not the manliest of weapons but it was effective. He drew blood. He was alive.

But people thought he was dead, and that was interesting. Now those loose ends were still someone else's problems. He could do whatever he wanted. He really could leave it all behind and no one would know. He had no obligations. Nothing. Spike was dead. He tried to figure out how he felt about this, and discovered he felt vaguely better then before. Ah, fuck it. Long live John Doe, he thought as he strolled onto the streets a new man.

"Hello, Spike person."

Spike almost choked on his own spit. He turned around very slowly, only to have Ein leap happily into his arms. He let the dog lick him for a brief moment and then came to his senses and plopped him on the pavement. "Hi, Ed," he said a little cautiously. He was always a little cautious around Ed, even when he wasn't mistakenly identified as deceased.

"Lunkhead is a dead man walking," she sang as she walked circles around him like a zombie. "Are you gonna eat Ed's brains?" she giggled.

"Hell no. I don't want what you have," Spike sighed. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"Ed came to give you your present," she said giddily.

"Present? Ed, what are you talking about?"

"Taaa-daaa!" she flung a piece of paper at him with a little flourish.

Annoyed, he snatched the paper from her hands, half expecting it to be a poem or some shit. He was shocked to see that it was his death certificate. "This is my present?" he wrinkled up one side of his face in confusion. "Edward…"

"Ed heard you leave," she said a little sadly. "Heard what you said to Faye-Faye. On Tomato," she brightened for a moment. "Ed was spyyyyying."

Spike rolled his eyes. "Get to the point, Ed."

"Riiight! So Ed tracked you cause Ed knew you were gonna get hurt. Cause you're a lunkhead."

"Right."

"Ed wasn't gonna help or nothing. Ed was just gonna watch."

Spike tried to conceal his utter frustration. "As heartwarming as your story is, could you please get to the part with the death certificate?" he rushed her. Though he honestly wasn't offended in the least by her last remark. Spike would not have accepted help from God in that moment, let alone the gang from Bebop. In fact, looking back he felt that all he could do was watch himself.

"Ed's getting to that," she snapped. "Ed saw you get hurt real bad and Ed saw all the agent persons take you to the hospital. Sooooooooo, Ed made you dead!"

"You mean, on the computer?"

"Yep, yep! On the computer, in the news, in the hospital, EVERYWHERE! All paper says Spike person is dead. What's on paper is fact. Fact is Spike person dead. Happy Birthday!" she leapt in the air as Ein barked merrily.

Spike was totally overwhelmed. "How…why…how?" he sputtered. Then he decided he actually didn't care how. "How" was probably very long and very complicated and very confusing considering Ed's limited means of articulation. Spike never gave a shit about "how." He only held a vague interest in "why" so he decided to go back to that. "Why?"

"Spike person did stupid things. Spike person would have been in a lot of trouble. But now Spike person can do what he wants. Ed is not real. Ed can do what Ed wants. And now, so can Spike," she nodded, innocent yet somehow shrewd smile on her lips.

Spike shook his head in wonder. "Ed…why would you do this for me?" 

Edward shrugged. "Spike was nice to Ed. Ed was nice to Spike."

Spike smirked slightly. "So, you're just gonna go around now committing good deeds?"

The girl giggled a bit as if she was considering it. "Nah," she dismissed him. "Only when it's fun."

"And I suppose virtually killing me was a blast."

"Yep! Yep!" she agreed and then made little pinging noises with her fingers as if she was shooting him. If Ed did have a gun, it would make pinging noises.

"Well, thank you," Spike shrugged, and then added, "Hey…what was the real reason you left, anyway? Was it really to find that dead beat father of yours?" He pretended he was asking these things out of morbid curiosity, when it was really out of some distant concern for the girl.

Ed sighed, and a brief moment of great sadness passed through her huge, amber eyes. "It was just time for Ed," she said simply.

Spike nodded, completely understanding her for the first time since they met. "Well, Ed can do what Ed wants. What does Ed want?"

"Maybe Ed wants her father," she shrugged. "Maybe Ed wants to go back to Earth. Maybe Ed just wants Ed. Ed doesn't really know what Ed wants. What does Spike want?"

"Spike has no fucking clue," he admitted.

Ed grinned. "No fucking clue. Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"That's nice, Ed. You can tell your father I taught you that one."

Ed nodded, and then suddenly flung her arms around him so fast and so suddenly, he almost fell backwards. Spike, shocked at the fact that he had a child wrapped affectionately around his body, did nothing. He just stood in the soft neon glow of the street, letting this little wild thing hang on him. "Goodbye, Lunkhead Spike Person," she whispered, and then back flipped off of him and took off down the street, only Ein glancing behind them once as they left.

"Goodbye, Edward," Spike held his hand up in a quasi sort of wave. He then sighed and turned to walk in the opposite direction, simply because he felt the opposite direction was the only place he could go. What did Spike want? 

Well…he figured he had all the time in the world to figure it out. One of the perks of being dead.

To be continued….


	4. Wasting Time

Wasting Time

__

A pawn in the game that's all I am 

Givin' all my duckets to Uncle Sam 

I'm free to do what I please little lady 

I was born at night but not last night baby… 

So I'm just sittin' here, just wasting time

Drinking, smoking, trying to ease my mind  


A job. Job, job, job. The word sounded foreign to him. Spike had never had a job. Being a gangster is not really a job as much as it is a poor lifestyle choice. And being a bounty hunter isn't a job as much as it is avoiding a real one. But here he was, sitting in front of a perspective employer wearing an orange polyester suit and alligator shoes.

"Do ya have any experience at all?"

"Well…we all have experiences. I guess the question is if I have the right ones."

The old man stared at him blankly for a moment. "All right, Confucius. Have ya ever worked in a repair shop before?"

"Uh, no."

"Have ya ever repaired somethin'?"

"Not really, no."

"Do ya know anythin' about aircrafts?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Ok, that's a start. What kind of background knowledge do you have?"

"Um…I fly them."

"Ya fly them."

"I fly one. Flew one. Pretty decently, if I do say so."

"Did ya build it or have a general concept of how it worked?"

"Uh…."

"No," the old man answered for him.

"Yeah, I'm gonna say that one's a big no as well," Spike admitted. 

The old man rolled his eyes and looked down at the piece of paper in front of him as if it was important, when in reality it was a warrantee on a toaster. What the hell was up with this kid? The hair, the clothes, the whole attitude. It was like he was daring the geezer to hire him. Lucky for Spike, the geezer wasn't one to back away from a dare. "So what exactly do ya know?"

"I know how to blow up stuff real good," Spike nodded, pleased with his summation of his skills and talents. 

"So…ya do pretty much the opposite of repairin' things."

"That's right."

"And yer applyin' to this job…why?"

"I think I've taken blowing up stuff about as far as it could go," Spike said, in quite possibly the only moment of sincerity throughout the entire interview process. That was a true statement. Once you destroy your worst enemy, normal property damage seems anti-climatic.

"I see. Well, to be perfectly honest with ya kid, ya seem to be a bit of a nutter. But yer a well spoken and coherent nutter, which is better than most of 'em so far."

"So you're saying I got the job?" he asked, but it wasn't so much in an eager or grateful way as it was out of amusement and mild shock.

"Yeah…I'm as puzzled as you are."

"Nice. Hey, do you have a uniform or something? I gotta get out of this damned suit."

"Oh, yeah. That's good."

Spike cocked his head at him. "What's good?"

"That ya don't like yer suit. It eases my mind slightly."

Spike smiled a bit. "Name's John."

"Yeah, well I'm Noah."

"Like the ark."

"Right. Though I doubt I could round up two of ya if I tried."

"Whoa, whoa. You're selling an Albatross K-1 for only 9,000 woolongs?" Spike stared at the craft in front of him with amazement. If he were a smart man, he would want an Albatross K-1. Every reasonable person in the universe wanted one of those. Being that he was Spike, he was always very content with his glorified hunk of shit. But the Albatross was THE ship. The Holy Grail of hormone riddled teenage boys still trapped inside 27-year-old bodies.

"Yeah, man," the short, wiry kid next to him grinned. He leaned smugly against the ship. "We will not be undersold."

Spike whistled. "Shit. How the hell do you make any money in this place?" he asked.

"John, my man, what you are about to learn is the greatest kept secret of Noah's Ship Repair and Used Craft Emporium," the kid sidled up to Spike as if he was one of his customers. All smiles and easy confidence. Easy the way a cobra smiling at you before it strikes is easy. "See, it's all about favors. The manufacturers…they do us a favor. Then we, the dealer, do them a favor, by keeping their product in such high demand. Then we pass the savings on to you, our valued customer."

"And what do I do to deserve such favors?" Spike smirked in a way very similar to his new co-worker.

"You simply buy our product."

"Ok…so how do you convince the manufacturer to give you the favor in the first place?"

"That is our greatest asset. The secret to a winning b to b relationship lies in trust, honesty and understanding. You see, John…we steal the parts."

"We steal the parts?"

"We steal the parts. That's it."

Spike seemed to consider this for a second, then nodded and said, "I can dig it."


	5. Been Caught Stealing

Been Caught Stealing

__

I've been caught stealing; once when I was five.

I enjoy stealing.   
It's just as simple as that.   
Well, it's just a simple fact.   
When I want something, I don't want to pay for it.   
I walk right through the door.   


Spike was introduced quickly to the rest of crew. The kid who introduced him to the world of business to business finance was named Caleb. They were joined by two other partners, Morris and Ravi. Ravi, a pale looking-waif girl, didn't speak much, and Morris said even less. This was fine by Spike since Caleb did enough talking for the lot of them.

"Ok, man, I'm about to take you the promised land. The Shangri-fucking-la of our trade," he smiled and then pointed the group to an impound yard. "It's like a damn buffet."

Spike shrugged. "Seems kinda…obvious, doesn't it?"

"What the fuck do you think this is man, the movies? I don't care if it's fucking obvious. We're here to steal parts, not to entertain ourselves."

"The only reason I do anything is to entertain myself," Spike sighed, but it seemed as if Ravi was the only one to hear him. She gave a brief, piercing look before she and the rest of her partners went to work.

Breaking into an impound lot was still amazingly easy. A few fleece blankets easily thwarted the barbed wire they had snaking around the perimeter of the fence like ivy. The fabric didn't completely dull the pain of the metal hooks but it was enough to make it bearable. Spike knew because he tested it out himself. One hand on the blanket, one hand off, just to make sure it was working. It was.

"Dude, you're bleeding all over the place," Caleb pointed out to him. They were perched on the poorly crafted roof of the structure, precariously hovering over the much longer ceiling spikes. If one of them rested their butts about a fourth of an inch lower then they had them, they would have been quite literally ripped a new one.

"Am I?" Spike asked, absently wiping his hand on his pants. "I hadn't noticed."

Caleb shook his head. "You are a nutter. Well let's get this shiznit on the road," he whispered and proceeded to cut a small hole in the ceiling. This alerted the attention of the dogs, which were easily silenced by Caleb dropping a boot on their heads from 15 feet in the air.

Spike winced as the dogs whimpered and then dropped like a ton of bricks. "I can see this is a very high tech operation," he said wryly.

"Dude, you do watch too many movies," Caleb huffed as he very ungracefully thudded to Earth. The other two followed. 

Spike managed to swing his long body down through the hole in one fluid motion, which earned him dubious looks from his new team. "I guess you've done this before," Caleb whispered.

"Not exactly this. But I guess things similar to this." He noticed Ravi roll her eyes and then they were off to work.

The proprietor of the lot was apparently quite reliably drunk out of his skull by 3:30 AM every evening. They could have had a small circus in there and it wouldn't have moved him from his comforting whiskey haze. Spike had to marvel at exactly how much of society really does operate on trust. Any idiots could do what they were doing; it was just only a few idiots lacked the moral scruples to try.

Spike, though he always considered himself a man with strong values in his own right, did not really object. He lived in an environment where your own partners wouldn't think twice about stealing the shirt off your back, so he never put much value on material things. It was the rest of the world that was hung up on that stuff, and he figured they served as a gentle reminder that you shouldn't get attached.

"Now, the trick is to open up the cover without cutting the wire," Caleb was trying to instruct Spike as they gutted their first victim, but he wasn't listening. 

"What the hell is this monstrosity?" 

Spike shifted his attention over to Ravi, who appeared to have found something of interest. He ambled over to her lazily, and then almost fell over in shock. "No shit," he mused.

"What is it?" Ravi asked. "It doesn't look physically capable of flying."

"That is a Red Tail. I've only known one person who ever flew one of these bad boys, and it looks like this might be hers.'

"Is it worth anything?"

Spike walked around and looked for the ticket. He found it pasted to the hull and whistled. "The dumb shrew parked in a tow zone."

"So did everyone here."

"But I think she's the only one with the stones to park in the Martian Trade Diplomat's parking space. The fine is worth more than her life," he shook his head. "Serves her right. It's not really worth much of anything but you never know when rare parts will come in handy, right?"

Ravi nodded in agreement, obviously back to not speaking. The young girl popped open the hood, perused the area a bit, and then pried some parts out as easily as shucking mussels from the shell. She shrugged, and the group seemed to be on their way.

They had just made their way on the other side of the fence when another group of thieves confronted them, presumably of the ship part variety.

"What the hell are you doing here?" one of them spat at Caleb.

"Business."

"Well, mind your own fucking business. This is our place."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

Spike didn't catch a bit of that conversation. He was distracted by two raccoons having sex. It was interesting. He had never seen raccoon sex before. The one didn't really seem to be enjoying it. He couldn't tell with the other one.

"Hey, you deaf or somethin'?"

Spike turned around. "Who me?"

"Yeah, you," one of the other gang members said as he flicked out a switchblade.

Spike had obviously missed something. "I'm sorry. What were we talking about?"

Morris shook his head in disgust. "Pussy," he mumbled at Spike. It was the first word he ever heard him speak. 

"We were talking about kicking your ass."

"Oh. Now?"

The other guy sneered as Spike's own team groaned. "Yeah, now, pretty boy."

"Ok. Then we better get to it then," Spike shrugged, then switched his own blade out of his sleeve while simultaneously bringing his other foot around to connect with the nearest thug's head. He immediately swung around to plunge his knife into the ring leaders thigh. Another gang member took this opportunity to kick Spike in the gut. Spike crumpled under the pain, but then brought his elbow up into the kid's face. Spike took a moment to rub his elbow, since he had caught it on a few of that kid's gold teeth. That really smarted. It was only a moment though, because the remaining two members where upon him. A cloud of gravel dust kicked up that made the resulting tangle of limbs and profanity look like something straight out of a cartoon. When the dust settled, the other two gang members were dispatched. Not that Spike didn't take a few, cause he did. But he seemed relatively unfazed.

"Friends of yours?" he asked.

"Where did you learn to do that, man?" Caleb asked, wild eyed.

Spike shrugged. "Bruce Lee movies."

Caleb nodded. "Wicked."

The motley crew turned to go home, booty still in tact. As he passed Morris, he could have sworn another errant "Pussy" passed his lips, but he didn't care much either way. And as for Ravi, she didn't stop glaring at him for the entire trip home. 

To Be Continued….


	6. The Edge of Seventeen

The Edge of Seventeen

__

And then suddenly there was no-one left standing in the hall 

With a flood of tears that no one really ever heard fall 

Well I went searchin' for an answer, up the stairs and down the hall 

Not to find an answer...just to hear the call 

Spike discovered his new living arrangements were going to be about as paltry as his old ones. Morris and Caleb both had apartments somewhere in town, and Noah lived in a room above the office. As for Ravi, she lived in the office itself. There was nothing much. A cot, an old brownish couch with some holes in it, a cracked full-length mirror and a mini-fridge under Noah's desk. The fridge contained half a six pack of beer, a Snickers bar and a bottle of black nail polish. Well, right off the bat the food situation was an improvement over the Bebop, so he decided to crash there as well. Ravi did not voice her disgust exactly, she just sort of made disapproving grunting sounds. It was the first time in two years she had a roommate. 

Spike could care less. He examined his new bruises gingerly in the mirror, oblivious to the activities of the other tenant. He realized for the first time in his life that he was getting old. Pushing 30. The big three-oh. He remembered a time where reaching thirty seemed to be an impossibility. That time was probably yesterday. He sighed, though he didn't really know what he was sighing at. At the very least, he should consider taking it a little easier on his body. You know. Pay attention in knife fights and things like that.

"So the great Spike Spiegel has come back to Venus," Ravi suddenly spoke up. She spoke loudly, as if she was announcing her entrance into the room.

Spike seemed non-plussed by this unexpected identification. "My God. It speaks," he said through a yawn. He rolled down his T-shirt. 

"When it feels like it," Ravi admitted.

"So what do you know about The Great Spike Spiegel anyway?" he asked, leaning idly against the mirror.

Ravi tossed a magazine in his direction. 

The wayward periodical hit the floor in front of his bare feet. Spike tilted his head sideways so he could read the upside down text. Big Shot Monthly. "Hey, I didn't know Big Shot had it's own magazine," he mused as he picked it up and flipped absently through the pages.

"Page 56," she said.

He looked at her strangely and then turned to the corresponding page. It was the obituaries. And there was his name, right next to a little photograph of himself. "Hmmm," he shrugged. "I didn't realize we had such a well known operation."

"Are you kidding? You guys are a bit of a joke," Ravi smiled. It was the first time Spike had ever seen the girl express something other than disdain. "Always get your man but never the cash. You're like an on-going sitcom."

Spike swatted the magazine back in her arms. "We aim to please," he sighed as he made himself comfortable on the couch.

"You are avoiding the fact that you're reported dead," she pointed out.

"Obviously, reports have been greatly exaggerated."

"Is this a plan of yours? Are you on some case? Or is this just a good old fashioned fuck up?" she sat on the arm of the couch in a scolding manner. "It's not that I'm interested as much as I'm covering my own ass. I don't need to get involved in a Bebop fiasco."

"Fiasco?" Spike asked, but he was close to laughing. Fiasco was a pretty good word for the outcome of most of their cases. "Well, first off, any fiascoes that go down are my personal fiascoes. I am no longer affiliated with the Bebop."

Ravi raised an eyebrow. "You quit? Or they don't know you're alive?"

"Covering your ass again?"

"No, just interested."

"The latter. Which I am only telling you to cover _my_ ass. I'm in no rush to get back there," Spike said quickly, closing his eyes in order to mask the doubt inside them.

Ravi just shook her head. "So what is this, a midlife crisis?"

"Maybe."

"How old are you?"

"27."

The young girl snorted. "Christ. How long did you plan on living?"

"According to my own calculations, I should have been dead over a month ago. So I bought an impractical sports car and had a tawdry affair with a cocktail waitress when I was 13. Good times."

Ravi cocked her head in curiosity at this creature in front of her. He was just so…well…odd. She couldn't tell if she could believe a single thing that he told her. "But you're not dead," she observed.

Spike made a clicking sound with his tongue as he pointed his finger at her. "You're quick on the uptake."

Ravi glowered at him. "You know…I think you're kind of an idiot," she confessed. "I've only just met you but I'm pretty sure of it."

"I think I have a pretty solid first impression of you too," he grumbled.

"Oh dear," she said in an exaggerated demure tone of voice. "I sure do hope it's complimentary. I would sooo hate it if we couldn't get along," she threw her head back, with her hand resting dramatically on her forehead. She waited a second for a reaction, and she when she received none, she went to the fridge and grabbed a beer.

"Hey, are you old enough to drink beer?" Spike called after her, just to be annoying.

"I'm 17. I think I'm going to have a mid-life crisis of my own," she said over her shoulder as she shut the door to the back lot behind her.

Spike smiled. Weren't woman supposed to be gentile and eager to please? He was like some sort of shrew magnet.

"Hey, John?"

Spike grumbled some response from under the pillow he had over his face. Spike did not get up before noon. And even then, the actual getting up was just a formality. He'd just put on his clothes and then go right back to sleep on the couch. But when you were in a suit, you were napping. It appeared as if you did something with your day. Spike generally opted to do very little with his day unless they were on some sort of case. This whole daily grind thing was new to him.

"Ya think you might wanna join the world of the living?"

He responded with some other unintelligible muttering.

"Cause besides the fact that I ain't payin' ya while yer on the couch, we just got a new ship that needs work. Swordfish II. Haven't seen a one of them in…" But Spike had already rocketed off the couch and into the back lot. Noah scratched his head. Damn weirdo.

They sold my ship. 

This was the phrase that Spike was repeating over and over in his head. With those four simple words came a slew of complex emotions. There was anger. They didn't even have the decency to sell it back to Doohan. Just dumped it off with these degenerates. There was a bit of territoriality. He didn't will that ship to anyone. It was still technically part of his, er, estate. It probably was the estate. But the gut reaction, the first feeling that came charging into his head when he saw the ship in the junkyard, was hurt. Hurt. He couldn't believe it. It hurt his feelings.

That ship was a part of him. You could never tell that from the way he treated it. But anyone who was close to Spike knew he didn't treat himself with anymore care. Spike and that ship were one and the same. And they sold it.

"Do they even make those anymore?" Caleb asked.

Spike shook his head.

"Shit, man. Do you know the money we can get for this baby?"

"It's not for sale," Spike said quickly.

"Yeah, fuck you, it isn't!" Noah yelled from the office. He was filing the paperwork on the purchase, and by filing he meant putting it under a rock on his desk. 

"It's my ship," Spike did not relent. He scrambled into the cockpit and popped open the glove compartment. He hung half his body over the side. "See?" he waved a document around.

Caleb snatched it from him. "Spike Spiegel."

"That's me."

"You said you were John."

Spike huffed. "Yeah, Doe is a family name," he said with as much sarcasm that can be squeezed into one sentence. "It's a picture ID."

"Then why did that chick have your ship?"

That chick. Faye. Grrrrrr. "That chick probably stole it," he snapped.

"They were his partners," Ravi spoke up, startling everyone. It seemed she only really spoke around Spike. Spike had to wonder why he was bestowed the pleasure. "They think he's dead."

"You owe 'em money?" Caleb asked.

Spike nodded. "Yeah, that's it. So can we keep this between us?"

"Yeah, man. On the DL. I got you."

Spike rolled his eyes.

"But we're still selling it," Caleb added.

"Ugh. Fine. I'll buy it back."

"How the hell are you gonna do that?" Noah emerged from the office. "I know you ain't got no money, cause I ain't paid you a dime."

"I'll work for nothing," Spike offered.

Noah scoffed at the suggestion. "As opposed to what?"

"Right now I am doing nothing for nothing. Now, I'll do something for nothing," Spike shrugged.

"This is so stupid, man," Caleb chimed in. "This is a sneaky business. Plus, you got some secret identity or some shit. You just can't be zipping around in that big pink thing."

"It's red," Spike narrowed his eyes.

"Dude, it's pink."

"Pussy," Morris agreed.

Spike sighed. "Whatever color it is, it could kick your ass."

"Don't change the fact you can't be flying one of those things, man," Caleb protested. "What are you gonna do with it?"

An evil grin suddenly crept its way across Spike's face. "Oh…I have an idea. Is there anyway we can make a trace on a ship?"

****


	7. I Plead Insanity

I Plead Insanity

__

I can't be responsible 

For anything I do now or say now 

I get too excitable 

To control the way I behave now 

I know that there are rules for this 

And I plan to break every one of them 

And if I go too far tonight 

You can be my alibi 

"Faye, how many times have I told you not to flush your god damn tampons in the…what are you staring at?"

Faye was looking out the window of the Bebop like a woman possessed. Jet cautiously made his way over to her. He stared at her for a few seconds and then stared back out the window. Nothing there but the Swordfish, parked right next to Faye's ship like always. "I thought you sold the Swordfish to get the Red Tail back," he mused.

"I did."

"Well, what's it doing here?"

"Good question," she said flatly. She refused to take her eyes off of the craft for a second.

Jet scratched his head. "Maybe they didn't like it," he offered.

"No," Faye shot him down. "Cause they would have demanded the money back. Not just drop it off over night and disappear without a trace."

Jet seemed to consider this, and then added, "Maybe it's a Christmas miracle."

"It's July, Jet."

Jet shrugged. "Maybe they're getting a head start," he said in a mock naïve tone. 

Faye grumbled and stomped away from the window, as if the sheer stupidity of the remark was enough to break her trance with the ship. "You know what that is," she pointed frantically to the Swordfish while lighting a cigarette. "He's haunting me."

Jet had to roll his eyes at that one. "Who's haunting you?"

"Who? Who the fuck do you think? Tall, skinny guy with stupid hair? Used to work here?"

"Spike is haunting you."

"Well, how else do you explain the fact that there is a DEAD MAN'S SHIP IN MY DRIVEWAY!!!!"

Jet waited a beat, then suggested, "Christmas miracle?"

"AAAAAARGH!" she kicked the couch a few dozen times before collapsing on it. "Ok, fine. Maybe it isn't Spike's ghost. Maybe I'm being stupid."

"Maybe?"

"Fuck you. But I would just like to say, FOR THE RECORD," she pointed her last remark skyward, as if addressing some heavenly being. "That if a certain someone were haunting me, it would be pretty DICK. It's not like I had anything to do with a certain someone getting killed. In fact, I even tried to stop a certain someone, if you remember. SO KNOCK IT OFF!!!" She fired a few shots into the air for good measure. 

"Faye, I swear to God, you put one more hole in my ceiling, I'll beat your ass like a rented mule. And I'm sure there is some sort of explanation. You think dead folks don't got better things to do then annoy you?" Jet shook his head and rubbed his sinuses, which were starting to bother him. 

"Well, if any one of them were going to take the time out to irritate the living, it certainly would be Spike."

"So, what, am I gonna wake up one day and find "wench" spelled out in matches on my floor?"

"Wouldn't surprise me."

"You know, it is a shame he's dead. You two are made for each other," Jet rolled his eyes, clearly done with this conversation. "You're both fucking nuts." And with that, he slammed the door to his room and popped a few Advil. He was too old for this shit.

"Question," Ravi began through a mouth full of crackers. It was all the girl ate. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front Spike's couch, as she seemed to do every night when the crew had left. It was the only time she ever really spoke more than a few words at a time.

"I don't feel much like having a girl talk, Ravi," Spike mumbled. His eyes were closed like he was trying to sleep. Truthfully, he would not be able to fall asleep for at least another two hours.

"What's the deal with your partners?"

Spike groaned. "There is no deal. I have no partners," he turned his face into the sofa so his back was to her.

"So what are we? Are we your partners?"

"I didn't say that either."

"It just seems odd to me. That someone who was faking his own death would hang out in a big city where his partners are likely to be. Also odd that he would bother to play pranks on them," she said in a sing-songy kind of voice. He liked her so much better when she was mute.

"Hmm. Well, I happen to think it's odd that a 17 year old girl steals auto parts for a living. Why would she do that?" Spike whirled around.

Ravi narrowed her eyes into guarded slits. "You're not the only one in the universe with a past, you know," she mumbled.

"Um, excuse me, kiddo, but you're the one who goes around asking about it. It's not like I walk the planet playing violins for my own ass all the time. You're the one who's trying to make me into some tragic hero," Spike actually sat up, preparing himself for a full out battle. This kid was really beginning to grate on him

"Is that what you see yourself as?"

"I don't really think about myself all that much. What the hell difference does it make, what I think of me? All that matters in life is how others see you. If you see me as a tragic hero, then I guess that's what I am."

"You're tragic all right. But you're no hero of mine," she huffed.

Spike made a frustrating growling noise. "I don't know what you want from me, but you better spit it out or shut the hell up."

"You fucking baffle me, is all," Ravi admitted. "You just walk around like you're waiting for someone to kill your ass, but yet manage to survive it all. You keep trying to play everything off like your some cool cat who doesn't give a shit about anything, but then the thing with the Swordfish…I just don't get you."

Spike sighed. I don't get you. He's been hearing that sentence all his life. "I'm not yours to get," he said softly. "And I'd just like to point out the obvious here," he continued. "You don't say two damn words to your partners. I'm the only one you speak to for whatever reason. So don't lecture me on emotional bankruptcy, when you live the majority of your life in a constant state of moping around."

"So I'm a hypocrite," she smiled. "You wanna piece of me?"

"Good night, Ravi," he snapped as he turned his back on her for good.


	8. Just A Perfect Day

Perfect Day

__

Just a perfect day  
You made me forget myself  
I thought I was someone else 

Someone good  
  
Oh, it's such a perfect day  
I'm glad I spent it with you  
Oh, such a perfect day  
You just keep me hanging on  
  


"I'll put on the hat, but I'm not wearing the ski mask," Spike announced.

"What, man? You afraid you ain't gonna look cool or some shit?" Caleb mocked him. He was backed up by Morris' heartfelt "Pussy."

Spike rolled his eyes. "I just don't see the point. I'm against it on principle," he said flatly.

Caleb shook his head as he rolled down his own mask. "Fine, man. Whatever."

As they walked off, Ravi attempted to communicate to Spike that he really should just wear the mask this time, but the exchange turned into one of those confused whirlwinds of pantomime where two people are simply not on the same wavelength. She eventually gave up and stomped off a few feet ahead of him.

The reason why they were suddenly so adamant about concealing their identity became obvious to Spike as they approached the evenings "hit." They were stealing from the mob.

It wasn't The Mob, as in the Red Dragons, but it was mob enough. They had paid off the owner of a small time button factory to allow them to keep their hot merchandise in his warehouse. The owner, not really given much of choice, agreed. It was a ballsy move to be robbing from them, but it was unclear to Spike why they were making it.

"They stole from us," Caleb whispered.

Spike nodded. That was reason enough for him. In fact, the theory of relativity would have been reason enough for him. He never needed much convincing to do something stupid, just the promise of shits and giggles.

There was a shattered pane in one of the windows, and after an awkward climb upwards, the four of them managed to lower themselves into the warehouse. It was unclear where the buttons ended and the real valuables began. Everything was in huge, towering stacks of unmarked boxes. The dark, inky shadows they cast along the floor were both convenient and creepy. There was no guarantee they were the only unsavory individuals in the building. They looked at each other, trying to communicate their next move with their eyes, but it turned out to be more confused that Ravi's earlier attempt to get Spike to wear his mask. Unspoken communication only worked when the willing parties had at least one thing in common.

Not knowing what else to do, Morris got out his razor and was about to slit open the nearest box. But just as he plunged the steel into the soft cardboard, there was a gunshot. Everyone froze. They looked at each other again, but this time the message was crystal clear. _What the fuck was that?_

Wearily, they all peaked around the corner of a stack of boxes, and was met the grizzly sight of a dead body. The gunman was standing over him, grinning. "Come to see the show?" he asked, without turning around. Spike could feel their bodies tense around him, and the sensation was suffocating. He was about to do something, anything, when someone else answered the question.

"Wouldn't miss it," the voice replied. Jet.

Spike choked on a small gasp as he snapped the woolen mask down over his face. The motion did not go unnoticed. Caleb looked at Spike again, the message in his eyes quite obvious this time as well. _Who the hell is that?_

God, these people asked a lot of questions. Spike made a "let's get out of here," motion with his eyes, but the rest of the group was too curious.

Jet was standing ominously atop a large stack of boxes, pointing his gun at the criminal as if he was delivering some divine justice from on high. The Bebop always did have a taste for the overly dramatic.

"So what's your scenario?" the gangster smirked. "Did I kill your mamma? Bang your sister?"

Jet shrugged. "Barely even know your name, bud," he smiled. "But your head is worth a hell of a lot of money."

The gangster seemed pleasantly surprised. "A bounty hunter. I have made it big," he mused before daintily loading his gun. It was so much more fun when it wasn't personal. 

It was then that several things happened at once. Jet, or at least everyone thought it was Jet, got off the first shot, just as the fugitive gangster dove behind some boxes for cover. The same boxes Spike and the gang were hiding behind. The man knocked into the group of them like a bowling ball might mow down a set of pins. Caleb stupidly went to get off a shot of his own, lost what was left of his balance, and toppled into the large stack behind them. As the boxes swayed precariously overhead, it became obvious by the heavy clanging that those were not buttons. Several pounds of steel parts were about to come crashing down on them from a good 20 feet in the air. The shadows bent and shifted on the floor, as if they served as the site for a very shaky assassin. Finally, the boxes seemed to settle on Jet. He stood there wide-eyed, firing at the boxes as if it was some stoppable entity. The stolen merchandise remained unfazed. It all slammed directly into his stack, sending both crashing to the floor. The sound of thousands of buttons and a few dozen ship parts hitting the floor in an empty warehouse sounded like something just shy of the Apocalypse. 

Mufflers and engines hit the pavement like great, steel meteors. The buttons rained tiny pinpricks of irritation down upon the group of them, rat-tatting away on both the floor and their flesh. Everyone was knocking into everyone else, and it became impossible to tell who was who in the chaos. Very bad situation in a room full of people with guns. Jet, not really giving a shit at this point, fired randomly into the crowd. He had swallowed about 30 buttons on the way down and he was not in a particularly diplomatic mood. This of course prompted everyone else to follow suit, but their gunfire seemed to take down more boxes then people. When the smoke cleared, the gangster was missing, an engine had fallen on Morris's leg, Ravi was struggling to free herself from a web of cardboard, and Caleb had been shot in the shoulder and whimpering softly to himself. Only Jet and Spike remained standing. They were standing a bit shakily, but still standing.

Jet took in a deep breath as he looked over the small time thief in front of him. "You just cost me a shit load of money," he observed in a surprisingly calm manner.

"Um…sorry," Spike said in an exaggerated British accent.

"I swallowed buttons," Jet continued, as if listing everything that went wrong in the past ten minutes.

Spike nodded. "Sorry…again?"

"I think I am going to kill you," Jet said as if he was coming to a casual decision. Like, I think I will have sushi for dinner tonight.

Spike had to almost bite his tongue to keep from laughing. "Sounds fair. Do I get a head start?"

Jet smirked as he loaded his gun. "Start running. You'll know in a minute."

Jet did not give Spike a head start. No sooner then he had his back to him then bullets were bouncing off the steel walls all around him. Jet was missing, but it was intentional. He really only wanted to scare him. At least at first. 

Spike fired a few behind him as well, but they were equally half-assed. It wasn't until they were in the street that Jet started playing for real. It wasn't a fight to death. Spike knew that much. It was just like a high stakes version of executive paintball. First one to get in the leg loses. 

Spike was quite enjoying himself. They bobbed and weaved through parked cars and city lights, glass tinkling merrily in their wake. They were like two boys having the ultimate pissing contest. It wasn't until Spike realized he was out of ammo that a wild thought occurred to him. A wild, adrenaline fueled, feverish thought.

Let him kill me.

He didn't know where it came from, but he couldn't shake it. Let Jet shoot him. End it now. End it for real. He suddenly veered sharply to the left and towards the bridge. Jet had some trouble keeping up with his quicker and more agile opponent. Where the hell was this kid going? He was following more out of curiosity now then anger. He became even more curious when he found him standing on the ledge of the bridge, staring at the water below.

Jet raised both his eyebrow and his gun. "Who are you?" he asked.

Spike laughed. "John Doe," he replied.

Jet shook his head, not feeling anymore enlightened. "What were you doing in that warehouse?"

Spike took a deep breath. Could he get him to shoot him? He pictured the bullet piercing his flesh, his body cascading over the side and into the ravine bellow. He knew how it felt to fall into nothingness. He had done it before, but he was unfortunate enough to be pulled out of it. He would want it to be Jet. If not his worst enemy, then his best friend. He had never called Jet his best friend before, not even inwardly, and the phrase sounded strange to him. Strange, but undeniably true. 

He had a best friend before. How easily friends and enemies bleed together.

"What were you doing in the warehouse?" Jet repeated. "Who do you know?"

If Spike whirled around at that moment, gun blazing, Jet would shoot him. It would be survival instinct. Cop instinct. It would be that easy. All he had to do was turn around this very second and boom. Dead. Done. 

"Uh…hello?" Jet asked again. "You high or something?"

Spike shook his head. Partly as an answer to the question, and partly because he had another thought. This time they would find his body. This time they would identify him. And Jet would know he pulled the trigger. He would never forgive himself. Even though he would know deep down it was Spike's intention, that it was what he wanted, his life would never be the same again. Spike couldn't let that happen. He could never bring himself to hurt him that way.

So what was he doing here?

Spike sighed. Looked like it was back to another annoying day of living. "I didn't kill my wife," he said over his shoulder.

Jet looked at him like he had nine heads. "What?"

"Nothing," Spike shrugged before diving off the bridge.

Jet stared at the empty space for a moment, trying to figure out if he had just imagined that whole exchange. He took a long drag off his cigarette before peering over the side. Nothing. No body, not even a ripple in the water. Like it was a ghost. Jet rolled his eyes at himself. A ghost. Things like that seemed to be popping up a lot lately. Spike seemed to be popping up lately. He would be an idiot if he denied the fact that kid reminded him an awful lot like Spike. About the same height as Spike. Same gate as Spike. Same charmingly suicidal attitude as Spike. And though he had never heard him attempt to do one, he figured his British accent would sound something like that. 

Truth was, there was no real way to determine if this was some sort of sentimental psychotic episode or if it actually was Spike. If it was his grandmother or Aunt Petunia, then yeah. He could easily chalk it up to some frou-frou grief transference…thing. But this was Spike, for whom 9 lives were not enough. If he were alive, why wouldn't he tell them? Vicious and Julia were dead. He had no more excuses. 

Jet decided he did not want to think about this anymore. It wasn't Spike. It was his imagination. There. Case closed.

God bless denial.

__

You're going to reap just what you sow


	9. Under The Bridge

Under The Bridge

__

It's hard to believe   
That there's nobody out there   
It's hard to believe   
That I'm all alone   


It took Jet forever and a day to move his ass off that bridge, at least as far as Spike was concerned. He had swung himself underneath the structure and was hanging there. When he finally heard the footsteps move off the space above him, he carefully scaled his way over and down the side. His foot had barely touched the muddy ground when he heard a gun click behind him.

He groaned and put his hands up. "What?" he growled.

"I'm holding you up."

Faye. Well, this was turning out to be a fun evening. It was like some acid trip version of This Is Your Life. Spike turned and pointed his own gun at her. "How do you know I'm not holding you up?" he asked, accent back in place. "I am the one in the mask."

"Oh, you can't be holding me up," she said coolly.

"And why is that?"

"I have no money."

"Well, I don't have anything either. So really, we're just two people holding guns."

"I could shoot you," Faye said with a derisive grin. "And then it would be one person with a gun and a corpse."

Spike considered this. "You know…we could make quite an interesting project out of this. How many scenarios can we invent for two people with guns under the Venus Turnpike On Ramp? It'll be like one of those art projects. What are they called…"

"Found object," she answered for him.

Spike nodded, impressed. He didn't know she had the slightest interest in art. 

"Well," she said. "Give me what you have."

"I told you I don't have any money," Spike protested. "All I have is a cough drop."

"What flavor?"

"Honey lemon."

"Give it," she jerked her gun to the side like a terrorist instructing a hostage in a bad movie.

"You're stealing my cough drop at gun point," he stated more than asked.

"Yeah, well, I was supposed to meet my partner here but he bailed or fucked up or something. So I might as well get something out of this. So give it."

Spike smiled under his wool cap and tossed her the cough drop. 

"Thank you," she said as she unwrapped it and popped it in her mouth, all the while keeping the gun on him.

"No problem. This has been a harrowing experience. I might never walk alone in a dark alley again," he said wryly, his smirk almost audible.

Faye looked at him strangely before pointing her weapon with a newfound fervor. "I should shoot your ass," she said nonchalantly.

"Why is that?"

"You remind me a lot of someone I knew. A crime punishable by death, as far as I'm concerned." Her tone was cold and bored, but there was a warmth in her eyes that betrayed her. A glint of nostalgia, affection and regret. The Faye Paradox. Crunchy outside, creamy center.

Funny. He didn't miss it at all. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of another gun clicking. Both he and Faye rolled their eyes.

"Are you being held up or something?" Ravi asked, sounding every bit 17.

"No, it's cool," Spike replied, still using his accent.

Ravi was about to point out he sounded like a homosexual Beefeater and then ask why, when she recognized the woman beside him from her picture in the magazine. She then decided to shut up.

"It's not cool," Faye protested, annoyed that this guy just wrote her off so easily. "I'm holding a gun to his head. And who the hell are you, anyway?"

"She's my partner," Spike said smugly. "My partner shows up when she's supposed to."

"Actually, it was a total accident that I…"

"My partner shows up when she's supposed to," he repeated.

"I'm a very dangerous person, you know," Faye suddenly felt compelled to note. She was now pointing the gun inches from his face. In the two nanoseconds it took her to do this, Spike had his own gun inches from hers.

"Me too."

"We can easily just blow each other away right this second," she snapped.

"What's keeping you?"

They paused. Not that they were actually moving. It was more of an internal pause, a sort of impromptu assessment of the situation. Their eyes met. Shit, thought Spike. My eyes. She'll know my eyes. 

Deep down, he knew she'd know them even if they weren't two different colors, just like he'd know hers. But for the moment, he pretended it was a purely physical thing. Like identifying a crook in a line up based on his tattoos.

A brief flash of recognition flashed across her face and was gone. "Uh…should I be shooting one of you?" Ravi asked.

They stared at each other for another beat before they both answered, "No, it's cool."

They each put away their guns, turned from each other and walked away.

"What was that about?" Ravi asked him when she was positive they were out of earshot.

"Dunno. Just some desperate bounty hunter looking for a head. She was harmless."

"She was your partner."

"Have you been stalking me or something?"

"Don't flatter yourself. I know the stats on every hunter in that book."

"Well, she's not my partner anymore," he said sharply, and then quickened his pace.

Ravi had no trouble keeping up. "You're gonna tell me you two didn't have a moment back there?"

"Oh yeah…it was a real romantic interlude. Right out of the movies," Spike brushed her off.

"Ugh. Whatever, as far as that goes," she persisted. "I just meant something…familiar. A moment that actually proved you are a human being."

Spike whirled around so fast that Ravi almost walked right into him. She took a startled step back. "I've felt harder and more passionately than your snot-nosed little brain can fathom," he growled at her. "But that's over now. So leave me the fuck alone." He took a moment to acknowledge that he had become a walking cliché, then shook his head and kept walking. Neither of them would say another word the rest of the evening. Not when they picked up Morris and Caleb from the hospital, not as they got their asses chewed out by Noah, not for a good five hours. 

"Where the hell have you been?" Jet asked as Faye stormed on to the ship.

"Where the hell have I been?" Faye swung her arms around wildly. "Where the hell were you? Hang out by the bridge in case we need to head him off. That's what you told me."

"Wait, you were waiting there this whole time?"

"YES! That's what you asked me to do, isn't it?!?"

"Well…yeah," Jet ran his hand over the top of head with a guilty expression. "But I just figured you would have left after 15 minutes."

"Why would you figure that?"

Jet gave her a look that warned her not to insult his intelligence and Faye rolled her eyes in agreement. "Ok, fine. So I was uncharistically reliable," she said as she plopped down on the couch. "Sue me."

Jet shook his head but he was smiling. "Fucked up night."

"Hell yeah. Hey, um…not to sound like a raving lunatic again but uh…"

"I know," Jet cut her off. "I thought it was him too." 

"Are we losing our minds?"

"Yes," Jet said simply.

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Because right now, the idea that we are simply losing our minds is the easiest and most agreeable explanation. So we're a couple loons. Let's leave at that."

Faye nodded. "Sounds good," she shrugged as she went off to bed. Not that she would be getting much sleep. The little fucker. It's so like him to be a haunter.

To Be Continued…


	10. Desperado

Desperado

__

Desperado, you ain't gettin no younger, 

Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin you home. 

And freedom, oh freedom, well that's just some people talkin. 

Your prison is walking through this world all alone

One eye saw the present and one eye saw the past. In all his hours of not talking that night, Spike realized he never once had his eye on the future. When you have no future, the present is inconsequential. The Bebop was always his present. It wasn't that he disliked the crew or his life with them. Quite the opposite, if he would ever just be honest with himself. It was that the whole thing seemed temporary. He was just biding his time with those guys until his real life came knocking, the life he could never truly escape. It might have been a doomed life, but it was his life. He thought he had a future with Julia, though he could never quite see it in his mind. He remembered a conversation he had with her once. After the first time he had ever told her he loved her. Her response was not exactly ideal, but it was very Julia. 

"So what?" she had said. "Does that put us in a different situation than before?"

Spike shrugged. "Did you expect it to?"

Julia shook her head. "Maybe. I just…what the hell is the plan here, Spike? Are we gonna run away together? Get a house with a dog and pop out a few kids?"

"No kids. And I'm not a fan of dogs."

Julia smiled in spite of herself. "I just have a hard time believing that's possible. When we joined…or at least, created these situations for ourselves, it wasn't really with the future in mind. The others won't care about our plans. They aren't just going to let us go because it's right or because we've earned it or because love conquers all."

"So essentially what you're saying is, the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world," Spike summed up. "Here's looking at you, kid."

Julia gave him that look. It was a look that she had invented solely for him. It indicated she wasn't sure whether she wanted to laugh or smack him upside the head, and so decided to do neither. She had never felt compelled to look that way at another human being and she knew she would miss it some day. "Well…" she said in a low voice. "We're hardly kids anymore."

"No," Spike said as he flicked his lighter compulsively. "We're not."

Julia reached out and grabbed his hand, both to make him stop flicking the lighter which was very annoying and also so that he'd pay attention to her. "Vicious won't stop until your dead," she said quite seriously.

"So then I'll kill him," Spike replied, not quite as seriously.

"You say that like it's an errand you have to run."

Spike leaned back in his chair. "It's on my list. Right after get my oil changed," he smiled at her, but she didn't seem too amused. "You know, Julia, not every love story is tragic. Sure, the good ones are, but there are some out there that end quite happily. With a jolly jaunt into the sunset."

"You mean happily ever after," she said.

"Well, sure. Why not?"

"Nothing can end happily ever after," she said matter of factly.

"Oh really? How so?"

Julia drew herself up the way she always did when she was about to make some grand point. "Something can't end if it's supposed to be ever after. Ever after is forever. Forever doesn't have an end."

Spike considered this for a moment before asking, "So what?"

"I guess my point is that ever after is a long ass time, Spike," she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair in that sad way of hers. She always moved with a melancholy grace. "I love you too," she smiled softly. "But I'm on my last pair of glass slippers."

That was Julia. She knew her fate as well as he knew his and she never apologized for it. She denied it occasionally in weaker moments, just as he had. But one of them always knew. The world could fool one of them from time to time with false hopes and promises but never the two of them together. 

The Bebop was more easily duped. Faye had some crazy ideas that her past would give her the answers. She let life convince her that her past would make her happy. That it would make her whole. There was Jet, who probably understood Spike the best, but still didn't quite buy into fate and destiny. He let go of everything in his life with a sort of stoic grace, thinking this left him better off than the others. But he was as lost as the rest of them and less willing to admit it. 

So they didn't understand. Spike didn't think his past could make him happy. Not really. And he knew that there were some things in life that you can convince yourself to let go of. But they won't let go of you. He didn't see his past as some cure all for his present predicament, or the cause of it. He just knew, plain and simple, that his past would kill him. Julia knew. He knew. And deep down, the Bebop knew. But they didn't want to hear it, so Spike told them nothing. 

But things were different now. There was something almost miraculous about the exchange with Faye under the bridge. Ravi was right about that. Without even knowing it was him, she treated him the same. They immediately picked up the easy rhythm of their relationship; the rapid-fire exchanges that were always about bullshit but still contained that sort of subtext. That reluctant admission of friendship and trust under all the wise ass remarks. The trust they had, at least when it came to important things, was the reason neither one fired. There wasn't a ski mask or stupid accent on the planet that could disguise that. The same with Jet.

He never really thought about them before. But then, they weren't his past before. One eye saw the present and one eye saw the past, and now the past included the Bebop. He saw waking up on the couch each morning only to have one of them staring at him. Jet, Faye, Ed, the dog…someone always wanted something. He saw the crooked little smile Faye would have when she discovered a bounty, or did something clever, or managed to piss someone off. He saw Jet getting downright giddy when they could afford some decent food and he saw how he cooked it as if he was some culinary marvel. He saw Ed. Crazy Edward flying in a crazed sugar high around the cabin, who despite talking in sputtering firecrackers of actual language, managed to be the most honest of the bunch. He saw the conversations they could have with their eyes. He remembered being able to sit in a room with the three of them in total silence and not minding at all. He remembered how they would almost never, ever, say what they meant, but knew he what they meant anyway. He realized how valuable that all was. He realized that they were quite the formidable team when they had to be. When they wanted to be. He also realized that they didn't want to be a formidable team all that often, and he didn't mind that either. When it came down to it, there was very little in his life that he regretted, but maybe, just maybe, there were certain things he missed. 

But maybe that was bullshit. Maybe he lived his whole life like the world was going to end. And now that it hasn't, he was grasping at straws.

Spike opened his eyes to see Ravi still staring at him from the floor. She hadn't stopped staring at him since they got back from the hospital. He did his best to ignore her but it was four in the morning and it was becoming about seven kinds of creepy. "What?" he snapped.

"Nothing," she snapped right back.

"If you think you're gonna get something out of me, your wrong," he added for good measure. The way that girl interrogated him each night, you would think she was his shrink.

She said nothing for a long time. Then she stood upright, paced around once or twice, then took a position in the far corner of the room. This roused his interest because it was the first movement she had made in a few hours. "Why are you here?" she asked him at last, but her tone was more saddened than accusatory. She asked the question as if the fact that he was here was the most tragic thing in all the universe. It was her tone that made Spike hesitate in his answer. And he resented the fact that it made him hesitate. All this talk of feelings was making him nauseous. He had once acted on every impulse the second he had them, with no time for explanations. But all impulses had led to Julia and she was gone.

But whatever he was feeling, he was not about to reveal it to this kid. So he summed it up in one simple sentence. "I wanted to see what it was like to be dead."

His tone was flat and emotionless, but his face told a different story. Ravi narrowed her eyes.

"And?" she asked him after a pause.

Spike sighed and repositioned himself on the couch. He was now laying belly down, his long frame spilling over the sides. His head was resting quite ponderously in his arms, draped awkwardly over the side of the couch. It was obvious he was in some sort of emotional distress, and even more obvious that he was trying to hide that fact. "I found out I was never alive to begin with," he said sadly, and more to the floor than to her face.

Ravi did not respond. Her face scrunched up for a brief moment, and then relaxed. She gazed at the wall as if it could explain all this to her. Funny how people turn to staring at architecture when all else fails. But the wall didn't help her out. So she burst into tears. 

Spike did nothing. He just lay there and watched her, past the point of wanting to help but not so past it that it didn't affect him. He just sat. Slowly but surely, the choked sobs slowed down and Ravi took a breath. "You kept asking me why I chose you over anyone else to speak to. I never answered you. Mostly because I didn't know why myself. It wasn't a conscience decision that I made," she said. "It just happened. And now I know why."

She paused, as if she wanted Spike to ask her why. For Spike, the "why" was understood. He would wait for her to speak when she was ready. And eventually, she was.

"You are my future," she said. 

Spike took in a short little breath and sat upright. He was her future. So that would make her his past. The angry young thing with a thousand chips on each shoulder, daring the rest of the world to fuck him again. He didn't know what her story was, but in the end their stories would be the same. And she knew it.

She wiped her eyes, suddenly subconscious of her outburst. "That's why I've been asking you so many questions. I was really asking myself. But I never had any answers, and I was hoping you did." She laughed a bitter, mirthless laugh that seemed inappropriate in the darkened room. "You know when I was 13, I used to hold my hand over a Zippo to see how close to the flame I could get before I wussed out. Someone asked me why, and I told them it was to see how much I still feel. I look at you now, and I know it's not a phase. It's not something to get over. Time will pass and I'll be 27, lying on a couch somewhere utterly alone, trying to figure out if I still feel something."

Spike sighed and looked away from her. One eye saw the past, one eye saw the present. But never had the past come so vividly alive in front of him. In this girl, his own history was a tangible thing. Something he could touch, something he could talk to. Something that could listen. "You…you don't have to be like me," he said softly.

Ravi looked up at him with damp eyes. "Neither do you."

"You're right," Spike agreed. He sighed and leaned back into the couch. "When you're right, you're right." He stared up at the ceiling, wondering where in the hell he should go from here, when he suddenly thought of something to make him smile. "I'm gonna tell you a story," he said to Ravi.

"What?"

Spike shifted position on the couch again. "There once was a tiger striped cat," he said in a lilting sort of narration. "And he had a million lives and a million owners, and he cared for none. Until one day he met another cat. A white one. And he thought he wouldn't mind a thousand lives or a thousand deaths if only he could be with her. But the white cat was killed."

"So what happened?" Ravi asked. 

"Well, the tiger striped cat cried a million times and he died, never to come back."

Ravi raised her eyebrow. "That story sucks," she offered as feedback.

"I know. And it's not even the true story," Spike admitted.

"Ok. So what really happened?"

Spike cleared his throat. "The misconception about the tiger striped cat is not that he just stumbled upon this pretty white cat and fell head over heels by chance. The tiger striped cat had loved the white cat in his very first life. But when he died, he couldn't find her in the next one. And so he kept searching. Life after life, owner after owner, all the while thinking, "Maybe the next one, maybe the next one." Maybe in the next one they would be happy. Maybe in the next one they would find peace. You know what, Ravi?"

"What?" she giggled slightly, taken up in this sudden flight of fancy.

"Fuck the next one," Spike smiled and flopped back into the cushions of the couch. "Fuck the next one. That asshole cat should worry about this one. Cause there's no point in chasing after dead cats."

Ravi seemed to consider this before coming to her conclusion. "I don't like cats."

"Yeah, me neither."

They both smiled. It was different from other occasions where they both smiled, because this time it was at each other. "So, I guess the question is what to do with this one," Ravi said as she leaned back on her elbows.

"Well…do you like it here?" Spike asked her.

"No."

"So that's a start."

Ravi snorted at the childish yet infallible logic of what Spike had just said. What _was_ she waiting for anyway? She decided it was something worth sleeping on. "It was nice chatting with you, Spike," she said in a surprised tone of voice, as if it just occurred to her that it actually was nice chatting with him.

"Yeah…" Spike said in a similar tone. "Kinda weird, huh?"

Ravi nodded gravely. "Seriously. Let us never speak of it again." 


	11. Keeping The Faith

Keeping the Faith

__

You can get just so much from a good thing  
You can linger too long in your dreams  
Say goodbye to the oldies but goodies  
Cause the good ole days weren't always that good  
And tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems  


The next morning, Spike was gone. Ravi woke up to find two small envelopes lying on the couch where Spike's head would normally be. She looked around at first to see if this was some sort of trap. When all appeared to be normal, she examined them. One was a thick envelope with the words Swordfish Payment scrawled on it in atrocious handwriting. So the little weasel had money after all. She wondered where he got it or where he would have been hiding it. She decided she didn't want to know as she opened the other one. It was addressed to her.

Goodbye.

That was all it said. And in the corner there was a series of small blobs that Ravi recognized as Spike's attempt at drawing a paw print. She heard some cans clanging behind her and she turned to see a small black kitten tangled in an extension chord. She smiled and helped to free it. It mewed its gratitude and scampered off into the back lot. She still hated cats.

But she liked horses. There were no horses on Venus. She smiled at the note, and ran back to where he left the envelope. She crossed out where he had written her name and instead addressed it to Noah in her own purple lipstick. She stuck the same note back inside, grabbed 50 bucks from Spike's ship payment, and she was gone.

Spike did not go back to the Bebop right away. He wasn't sure it was even his intention to go back. He just knew that he could not wait out the rest of his existence being anonymous. So he paced the streets of Venus smoking cigarettes. Eventually he thought he might need a drink. He leaned against the window of a small bar for a second as he stuffed his smokes back in his pocket and sucked the last bit of tobacco out of the one he had. 

Then Spike did something he would always pretend to regret. He turned. He turned and saw Faye crying softly to herself through the window, in such a way that a random passerby could never tell she was crying. But Spike knew. He could see it all over her whole body. The way she sat, the way she glanced occasionally sideways before staring back down at her beer. She was crying and she was entirely alone. Maybe more so than he was. He had always opted for a life of virtual solitude. One was just sort of bestowed upon Faye. He suddenly felt bad about that. He really didn't like this whole business of feeling bad. In fact, it was this feeling of feeling bad that made him decide once and for all that being dead was not all it was cracked up to be. He sighed. It was a deep sigh, like the sigh of someone taking a breath for the first time, and he made his way to the bar.

"You have a light?"

Spike had been mulling over his opening line to the world of the living for the good 20 seconds it took him to stroll over there. He thought about just saying, "Hi." There was nothing wrong with "Hi," as your first word back. Then he thought about making some smart remark. Then he thought briefly of turning back, and then in some wild moment of delusion thought he might blurt out a Bob Dylan lyric and then he decided he definitely needed another cigarette.

But he was out of matches. And so his first words to Faye were probably one of the top ten most sincere moments in Spike's life. He needed a light.

Faye sighed without turning around, and then rooted in her pocket for a match. She was surprised to find she was out as well. "Sorry, chief, I'm all…" she turned casually in her stool. "…out."

Again, Spike searched his brain for something appropriate to say but she had already established she didn't have a match. So they stared at each other. Faye seemed to be squinting at him, as if he was some Magic Eye poster at the mall, and her mouth opened and closed slightly several times, though no sound came out. Finally, she shook her head, slammed some money on the bar and stormed out of the building, practically knocking Spike over as she did so.

"Jesus," a neighboring bar patron whistled. "You sure have a way with woman."

Spike smirked. "It's a gift," he said coolly, and then made his way out of the bar to search for Faye. He didn't have to look very far. She was pacing frantically underneath a street light, sucking on an unlit butt as if it was sustaining her very life. 

He walked up to her and stuck a lighter underneath her outstretched smoke. She looked at him incredulously and he shrugged. "I found it," he said. "It was in my inside pocket. Kinda odd. I don't usually put it there." This was all true.

Faye stared long and hard at him some more, her eyes furious despite their red, puffy appearance and then shook her head as she accepted the light. "You're an asshole," she declared.

Spike, not knowing one thing he could possibly say in his defense, said nothing.

"Will you say something?!?" she yelled at him. "Like, something meaningful? Something that you wouldn't say to a stranger at a bus stop?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I dunno!" she kicked the base of the streetlight. "How about an explanation? How about "I'm sorry that I was a dick and a half the last time we spoke and I'm sorry I don't have enough common sense, let alone decency, to inform my partners that I'm alive?" How about "Gee, Faye, it's nice to see you?"

"Gee, Faye, it's nice to see you," he said. He chose that particular option, because it was the only one that was true.

This gave her slight pause, and she seemed to relax slightly. "So what?" she said in her more casually bitchy tone. "You want back on the Bebop?"

"Is it still in business?"

"Like we ever had business. Yes, it's still floating around, hoping to fall ass backwards into money," she said with not nearly enough bitterness as the statement warranted.

"Then I want in."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Faye huffed. She hated him. She hated him for a bunch of reasons, but she mostly hated him because…well…she didn't really hate him at all. "Who says we'll take you back?"

Spike flicked his butt on the ground. "Well…you do. It's more your ship than mine, now. It's your call as much as Jet's."

Faye closed her eyes and leaned back against the pole. "You really hurt us," she muttered. "Do you have any idea what it was like when we thought you were dead? Do you even care?"

Spike was kind of taken back by the question. "I didn't realize…I didn't realize it would bother you so much."

Faye raised an eyebrow. 

"Oh yeah?" she said, her voice jumping two octaves.

"Well, yeah. I mean, everyone just came and went. Hell, at least I didn't take off in the middle of the night with the petty cash," he said in a mildly accusatory tone.

Faye glared at him and then leaned forward so their faces were uncomfortably close. "The day you left, you looked me in the eyes and decided death was the better alternative to another second on that ship with us," she said in a low voice that was practically a growl. She let that sink in for a moment, before leaning back against the lamppost. "You tell me. Would that bother you?"

Spike sighed as he was blindsided by a ten-ton wad of guilt, and wiped his nose in a self-conscious sort of gesture. "Faye," he said gently. "That wasn't what I meant at all."

"Then what did you mean?" Her snappish retort was in sharp contrast to his own befuddled tone of voice.

"I didn't…I didn't mean anything by it, really. There was no choice in anything I did that night."

"There is always a choice."

"When you get right down to it, sure. I could have technically stayed. And then what?"

"We could have gone on like always. The three of us and who knows? Maybe even Ed, eventually. There are worse things," her eyes suddenly became very dark as she looked away from him. "Believe me. I know."

"Listen," he said a little sadly, which threw Faye slightly. "I know I was never exactly an open book with you, Faye, but you knew enough. You knew enough to know Vicious and I…it wasn't some half-assed spontaneous thing. Choices were made long ago, long before I ever met any of you. Choices that I couldn't take back. I had to play the scene out to its logical conclusion. It was my plan, Faye. Probably the only real plan I ever made. But it didn't quite go off without a hitch. Cause Julia's gone. And I…well. I'm not." 

Faye suddenly felt a need to both hug him and strangle him. It was a strange emotion that should be named after her partner. How are you feeling today? Oh, you know. A little spike. "Well," she sighed. "You know what they say about the best laid plans." She knew she had the right to be royally pissed at him. And she was. But at the same time, she knew fighting Spike's nature was about as futile as asking the sky to turn green. "Why didn't you contact us?" she asked him softly, not quite sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"I had to work out some things," he replied simply.

"Like what?"

"Like…a new plan."

Faye looked up at him, and saw he was smiling. Not one of those awful, aren't I clever smiles, but a real smile. And she smiled back in spite of herself. "And do we have the pleasure of being included in this wondrous new plan?" she said coyly.

"Unfortunately, the Bebop is a key component. The lynchpin, if you will."

"Lunkhead."

"Wench."

"Gee, Spike," she said in wryly. "It's nice to see you."


	12. Solsbury Hill

Solsbury Hill

__

Today I don't need a replacement 

I'll tell them what the smile on my face meant 

My heart going boom boom boom 

"Hey," I said. 

"You can keep my things, they've come to take me home."

"Uh…Jet?" Faye poked her head in the lounge area of the Bebop.

"What?" he said as he snipped a renegade branch from a Bonsai.

"I um, well…"

"Spit it out, woman," he said as he opened his shears to clip another twig.

"I found something today you might find interesting," she said as she pulled Spike into the doorway.

Jet snapped the shears closed and managed to cut the entire top off the Bonsai. He stared at his fallen comrade, and by that he meant the tree. Then he looked back up at Spike.

"He's really standing there, right?" he said to Faye. "I'm not wigging out?"

Faye shook her head.

Jet squinted at him in the same way Faye did. "So you mean…the whole time?"

Spike nodded.

"THE WHOLE TIME?!? That was you, wasn't it? That British weirdo in the warehouse."

"I swear I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fuck you!"

"Hey! You two sold my ship!" Spike shot back. It wasn't really relevant but he was still a little pissed off about that and he had no other argument.

"You're mad cause we sold a dead man's ship?" Jet asked him.

"You know how much I liked that ship," Spike sniffed half-heartedly. "It was just disrespectful, is all."

"That's it," Jet grumbled as he stood up and began shoving Spike out of the Bebop. "The day Spike Spiegel yells at me for being unsentimental is the day this partnership is officially dissolved." He gave him one last toss out the hatch and slammed it shut behind him.

Jet turned to face Faye. "The whole fucking time," he repeated.

Faye did not say a word as she leaned herself against the wall, butt hanging out of her mouth. She didn't need to say anything. The prodigal son had returned. Jet shook his head, thinking what a huge idiot he was, and re-opened the hatch. Spike was still standing there waiting, hands in his pockets, as if he expected him to do so. "There's some extra rice on the stove," Jet grumbled, a look of utter defeat on his face.

Spike smiled a lazy, crooked smile and ambled into the Bebop. He shoveled some rice out of the pot, plopped his boots up on the table and began to eat.

"All is not forgiven, you know," Faye pointed out.

"I know."

"You're in for a good month of hell from us," Jet agreed.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Starting with dish duty for the rest of the month," Faye said with her hand on her hip.

"And the ship needs repainting," Jet added.

"And I could use my name sewn into all my underwear."

"All right," Spike rolled his eyes. "Anything else?"

The three of them locked eyes, and they knew they were building a moment that none of them would forget. One eye sees the past, one eye sees the present. And Spike had his friends to keep an eye on his future.

"Yeah, one more thing," Jet grumbled, but he was staring at the floor.

"What's that?"

"You pull this again, I'll break your head."

"Don't worry."


	13. Epilogue

Epilogue

"Someone get the comm!" Spike screamed from the couch. It was ringing for what seemed like ten minutes. "Helloooooo?"

Nothing. Spike sighed and stared at the thing ringing only a few feet away from him. But it was just enough feet to make him have to get up. And he was so comfortable. Maybe if you could just reach it with his foot.

He extended his freakishly long leg out as far as it could go, but it was still an inch short. If he just arched his back a bit, and balanced on one hand, then just maybe….

Crash. His toe tapped the answer button as his ass hit the floor.

"Hello? Bebop-Bebop!"

Spike peeked at the screen from over his knee. "Ed?"

"Spike person! Are you still a zoooommmmmbbiiiiieeee?!" she asked in her freakiest voice.

"No, Ed. I have officially rejoined the world of the living."

Ed grinned. "I knew you would, Spike person."

"Yeah, you're very smart," he said dryly. "So what's up?"

"Ed has a bounty for Bebop-Bebop!"

Spike sat up. "You have a bounty?"

"Yep!" she turned her computer around to face the screen. "Just came out on Earth. Big money. Big secret," she leaned into the video monitor as if she was whispering in Spike's ear. "Government files. 250 million woolongs."

"Well. That is a big fucking wad of cash," Spike whistled. "Thanks Ed."

"You're welcome!" she shrieked as Ein barked somewhere in the background. And with that, she hung up.

"JET! FAYE!" Spike screamed at the top of his lungs.

"What?!" the both called from various parts in the ship.

"Big money!" he shouted.

This made them come running. "Where?" Jet asked.

"Earth. Some guy named Brent Furcolo. 250 million woolongs."

"No shit," Jet said. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Ed."

"No shit."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Faye shrieked. "Come on!"

Spike watched as Jet and Faye ran around preparing to take off. He sighed contently as he stared around the interior of the Bebop, the only place he ever in his life called home. For some reason, some stupid Earth song that he'd hear Faye sing in the shower popped into his head.

__

Que sera, sera.

Whatever will be, will be.

The future's not ours to see…

"Spike, move your ass!!"

__

QUE SERA, SERA

Special thanks going out to The Counting Crows, Elton John, Pink Floyd, Kid Rock, Jane's Addiction, Stevie Nicks, Belinda Carlisle, Lou Reed, The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, The Eagles, Billy Joel, and Peter Gabriel, in that order, for their lyrical genius. Can't have Bebop without the soundtrack.

And of course thank you, dear reader, for sticking with me to the end.

Agent Orange, out.


End file.
